Untangling The Rope
by LePipi
Summary: To protect his honor, Centurion Castiel of the 4th Legion is to take a slave under his wing. The responsibility that is thrust upon him leaves him clueless. As a simple man of the sword he'd never encountered a man as Dean, a man who makes him question everything, from his loyalty to his faith. AncientRome!AU Soldier!Cas Slave!Dean
1. Chapter 1

Untangling The Rope

"Centurion Castiel!" – Cesar Michael with his arms spread wide and a grin even wider greeted the trudging soldier.

Castiel, Centurion of the 4th legion had come back home to the Empire after another victory. He hadn't the time to clean and make himself presentable as direct orders led them back to Michael.

Removing his helmet, he tried to keep his back as straight as possible and face not betray the pain he was in.

"Mars is ever fond of you, brother." The Cesar's strong hands enveloped his shoulders, as he stood stock still and breathed the air of home, concentrating on the heaviness of the Cesar's arms and the praise they held. Anything but the pain.

"My gratitude, Cesar." He said as Michael kissed his cheek and moved back to smile at him in pride.

His green eyes squinted as he trained them downwards.

"Have you been wounded, soldier?"

"I am fine, Cesar." The gods failed his prayers as his injury was spotted.

Michael turned back with a smile and tapped his shoulders assuredly.

"You never fail me, Castiel. And you never will."

"Never." He affirmed.

"You have done your service. Go home and rest. Tonight, you are a guest at my celebration."

"That won't be necessary, Cesar, I am humbled by the-"

"It is not a question, Castiel." Michael cut in between Castiel's stuttered breaths.

"It wouldn't be a victory celebration without my Angelus Mortis, the victor." He chuckled softly at the nickname the Centurion came known for.

The silence etched on as Castiel could only think of the numbing pain in his leg, and how last time he checked the blood was crusty and the maggots were still eating out the dead flesh. The need to go home, to see the wooden structure he left 2 years, to lay and sleep, sleep mercifully and forget about orders and death and pain was clawing at him to say 'no'.

But he knew his place, and saw the expectant face of the Cesar who he never denied and couldn't deny.

Comfort would have to wait until after.

"I am most humbled by your offer and would see to suit your presence, Cesar."

-/-

"Ah, Angelus! What a pleasant surprise!" Crowley, senator, paederast, coward and former traitor of the Republic approached Castiel as he was accepting a goblet of wine.

He'd never felt as out of place as of yet.

The Cesar's home in Paradiso was a grand architectural masterpiece. Columns of marble and sculptures of wise men came about at every turn. Paintings of vivid colors everywhere, on the walls, the floors, the ceilings, the piss-pots even. Every man and woman of honor was there to congratulate the Cesar and relish in his victory. All dressed in the most expensive linen and silk, jewels, gold and silver adornments on every neck and hands.

Castiel was clad in the only clean and mostly intact tunic he found, topped off with the blood red toga he wore as Centurion. He'd only had time and mind to wash himself perfunctory before he'd found a doctor to take care of the leg. The looks he'd gotten and stilted words of insincere praise were proof enough that he was unfit for these social circles.

But the Cesar's welcome and unbidden smile were enough for him. To know that he had Michael's friendship was a gift on its own.

What was not a gift, was the piss-piglet's presence.

"Senator Crowley." He nodded in respect, before turning to the side to take a big, big gulp of wine.

"Oh, no need for formalities here! This is a place of friends, and I suppose, since you've landed yourself here, you are a friend too." What was outright punishment was having to endure said piss-piglet's sly remarks and cowardly insults.

"I was invited by the Cesar." He responded curtly and when spotting the alarmingly young boy by the senator's side he turned to take another big, big, not-big-enough gulp of wine.

"Oh, I do not doubt this, _friend._ You did, after all, lead the battle that won Cesar another piece of land. Sitting in your tent or otherwise, it is still a great feat." Crowley smiled that smarmy grin of self-importance he worse as second-skin.

"Are you implying dishonor on me?" He'd had it with the night. Michael was, as expected, with his woman and wise men, Annael, an honorable woman that he could actually hold a decent conversation with, was off catering to the wives' petty musings, none of his soldiers were there, and all the men treated him as a pleb. Top it off, Crowley, a mockery with a rank, had the nerve to suggest he was only a lazy bystander on the field.

"I speak in jest, Centurion. War has made an injury on you deeper than the one on your leg." Crowley nodded to the wound, which Castiel had thought he'd covered up nicely with the toga.

"With respect, I would disagree." Castiel drained the last of the goblet, and decided now was a time as good as any to make his exit. The alcohol was hitting his judgment, as the urge to strike Crowley started seeming a good possibility.

Just then a hand settled on his shoulder.

"Dear friend, I will have to borrow our man of the sword for a short while." Michael smiled down at the senator, and Castiel would have to offer a sacrifice to Fortune tomorrow for this blessing.

"Of course, Cesar. " Crowley gave his little bow, giving them the ext.

Michael's hand stayed put, guiding him through corridors and corridors, each a work of art on its own. The drink buzzed his mind enough to not care where he was taken only that the noise was far-off and the heat diminishing.

"He didn't bother you, the old jester?" Michael chuckled into his ear as they continued their descent.

"I can handle him, though, if I may speak freely?" He turned his eyes to the deep and wise of royalty.

"With me, you may always speak freely. You know this already." He laughed softly.

"I don't understand why must we forgive his treachery. Why gift him with a seat in the theatre, instead of a punishment, as is formal?"

"Element of surprise, my friend! To show that all and any that plan, or hope to leave Lucifer's tyranny to join me in the fair battle, may do so without any repercussion." Michael responded fairly as they made their way through another opening.

"Ah..." Was Castiel's not so eloquent reply back, and really, if he had half the sobriety he would slap himself for his incompetence.

"Politics, soldier. Politics for grouchy old men." He laughed heartily as they founded a place of grandeur as he'd never previously seen.

The wide room was all drenched in royal red and gold. Sculptures of all beings, small and big decorated the room, a pool in the center, slaves with fans waiting by the gargantuan bed, slaves with grape and wine by the pool, and a painting of the Cesar on the ceiling.

"Impressed yet?" That voice rescued him from the inevitable fall into unconsciousness. It was all too much for a simple man as Castiel always thought himself to be. All the splendor and vanity was messing with his sanity.

"As never before." He answered honestly with wide eyes.

"Come, enjoy yourself with me. You've deserved it."

They lay on the two couches by the fire place, being offered food and drink at a mere gesture. Michael seemed at ease and fit right with the scene before him. Castiel, too overwhelmed to really play the character ate from his own hand and tried not to stare too much. Michael enquired about the battle, numbers of men lost and money spent, the usual. The Cesar would joke and Castiel was mindful to laugh at the right moments. It wasn't that he didn't find the sayings amusing, he was just never one of a loud nature.

"Has this evening been enjoyable for you?"

"Oh, it is a tremendous honor to have been a guest at your home, Cesar."

"Of course. Though, speaking of enjoyment..." Michael gestured for the wine and sipped.

"I must say, Castiel, as a friend I have been worried about you." The words left Castiel puzzled. More wine, more trouble.

"In what respect, Cesar?" He asked cautiously.

"You haven't brought anyone with you, soldier. And as I recall, I have never heard of a wife. Neither have I heard of a man. And I know how much you hate those brothels." He waved his hand dismissively.

"It is of no import what you do in your love affairs, but, men have been talking. Unkind things, I'm afraid." Castiel's discomfort grew with every spoken syllable.

"What things?"

"Well, they say that you are... like a woman, my friend. But, _I_ know that you are a soldier of great worth. And I curse them, send the wrath of the Furies to them!" He flapped his hand expressively as if chasing away something.

"I apologize that you have heard of this, though I assure you, that is not the case with me." He'd known that there was talk about him, him with no family, a dead, slave mother, unknown father, no children and no women behind him. He'd figured that as long as he did right by his country and people, then he owed no one.

"I know, I know, soldier. Problem is, these scum have big mouths, vapid caves, those things. Can't even shut them up. It would look ill with the people." Castiel nodded along with a clenched jaw.

"What I am trying to say, Castiel, is that _you_ have a way of shutting them up."

"I only need a list of names, my men would raise at a-"

"No, no, you misunderstand me. No deaths. Not this time." He smiled softly, giving him that sharp sting of fright.

"What you need is a vacation. My vassal, Gabriel, will accompany you tomorrow to the market. You will find a slave of your own taste, man, woman, boy, girl, it doesn't matter. You can take any of your own choosing, Gabriel will take care of all expenses."

"I-I don't-Cesar, I've never had a slave, I wouldn't-"

"_You_ are a perfectly good soldier, perfectly good man. You deserve to spoil yourself. Business will be dealt with tomorrow, yes?"

Castiel's mouth opened and closed at a loss of words. He didn't want anyone in that way, let alone to take a slave and abuse him or her. Having lived by the sword his whole life, his mind was a narrow path of 'fight and kill'. He'd only ever known of survival, and now, thrust in the middle of this splendor he was being offered a gift. From the Cesar no less.

"It will."

-/-

"You know, all this fuss is making me miss the battle." Gabriel spoke as he and Castiel made their way through the many merchants and shopkeepers.

He'd forgotten the city. How it was always bustling and alive, but alive in a way that was on the brink of dying. Beggars would come up to them and squeeze an arm or tug on their cloth to get their attention and mumble about 'please' and 'my wife, my kids.' Men of trade would shuffle by recognizing Gabriel and yelp about 'excellent trade' and 'splendid bargains' they had. One plebian even did as much as to stick a fish in the Centurion's face before he was struck away.

"You mean the tent?" Castiel replied as he squeezed past a row of caged chickens and pigeons.

"I see you have been reading Lucian of Samosata." The shorter man yelped as a chicken clucked at his deep blue toga.

"Never heard of him." Castiel stood to wait for the shorter man as the vassal grumbled nonsensically while trying to right his toga.

"No matter. And to answer your question, no. The palace is much wider and bed much more comfortable." Gabriel snapped back with a satisfied grin.

"What I _do_ miss is the atmosphere. It seems stuffier in here, hotter. Too much air wasted by slaves, I think." You couldn't hold a silence in the company of Gabriel. Seemed to him that all the time he spent being quiet for Michael resulted in the annoying ramblings he would always go off on.

"Might I remind you that you too are a slave."

"Oh, you might have the position, Castiel, but I have all the luxury." Gabriel smiled in victory as he led through the market.

"I do not need for luxury." Castiel said in a disinterested manner, raking his eyes for any sight of a good buy. So far they'd seen only a small cluster of slave children, and he'd made it adamant that he was _not _interested in that sort of deal.

"No, what you need is a slave. Although, honestly, I haven't got the slightest idea why you haven't picked out a freeborn woman by now. You still could have gotten men to penetrate you, it would-"

"_I have every right to end you, mongrel."_ The slave hung in the air, kept so by Castiel's grip on his clothing, his eyes welling up with fear as Castiel spit the words.

"I-I meant no disrespect, Cen-"

"_Jupiter's cock,_ you didn't. If you value your parasitic life you will watch your mouth. " He kept his tone down for the civilians' sake, but let his voice drop. However, the way he held the slave and spoke into his face did attract some uninvited attention.

"Yes, sir."

With that he dropped him down and continued on undeterred, Gabriel by his side.

"And why is it of importance to the Cesar that my honor stay intact?" He turned to ask what was troubling him.

"You are a soldier of great value to him. The fourth legion is the strongest. If the people lose their faith in you, they lose their faith in Michael."

"Do not call him by name."

"Apologies."

They kept on trudging through the streets and to the center of trades. It was as crowded as he'd never seen it before, and made hastily to where he saw a batch of caged people. The sooner be done with it, the better.

"Salve, Centurion!" A measly looking man, unclean and thin rushed up to the both of them as they came to stand.

"Citizen." Castiel nodded in acknowledgment.

"Congratulations on the victory, sir, but now, what pleases the soldier's eye? I have many, young, old, male, female, all to please the customer!" The man's eyes gleamed as if the coins were already in his hands.

"Let us see then, shall we?" Gabriel gave him a light push, and they went on. Castiel scanned the cages and took a stop here and there. Most of what he saw sickened him and was not pleasing at all. Children cowering in the corners of wooden cages. Beaten and bloody men shooting menacing eyes. Wall-eyed women on the brink of collapse.

When something made him stop.

A man, hands and feet tied together, lying alone in a cage. A single spread of light over his eyes illuminated the golds and greens there. Wild eyes, wild and merciless as the forest green they carried. Golden spots over the bridge of his nose. Golden hair too. Short, cropped. Perhaps a Gaul. But, the plump, womanly bow of his lips and slanting eyelashes seemed to gentile to be one of their kind. His body told a different story. Well sculpted and strong, it was. Defined arms at his sides, and fit legs, strong clavicle peaking from the dirty toga. He looked remarkably healthy, for having lived the life he was destined to live. But the eyes, the eyes never left him as he inspected the offering. He locked his gaze with the man's and found him unblinking, almost challenging him.

"What about this one?" He asked Gabriel, who puttered about in a circle until he was called.

"Good find! Looks intact, 's got plenty of meat on him. Citizen!" He waved the seller towards them.

"Ah, find anything that suits your needs, sir?"

"Tell me about this." All the while the caged and unmoving man kept his gaze. It was remarkable really, much greater men have failed under his stare.

"Oh, good choice, good choice! This one was just brought in, 21 years of age, ripe age! Kept healthy, a soft virgin, true Roman! Very clam, very good for both work and pleasure." He laughed nervously, while Gabriel snorted annoyingly.

"How much?" Gabriel shuffled forward until his appalled face was in the Centurion's line of sight.

"For you, I say... 900 denarii."

"Bona Dea, that is entirely too much! You are speaking to _the _Angelus Mortis, and if I-"

"I will take him."

"What? Centurion, you can't be-"

"I said I will take him." And with those words, the slave blinked.

-/-

Taking a stop in front of his home, Castiel finally breathed. He hadn't seen the house in daylight since he was back. It looked so... rotten. Wobbly and old, creaky steps and mossy wood. It was a mess and wasn't that just shameful? He breathed heavily and turned to the slave who he carried by a rope around his hands. It felt so difficult to carry around someone like cattle. Not lead like he did in the army, but literally string along.

"Up then." He instructed and made for the stairs, heavy footsteps following him behind.

Once inside he went for the bowl of water and rinsed his face and hands in a hurry.

"Go ahead." The green-eyed man behaved as a skittish horse. As if he were sure of his body and strength but frightful of the territory. He went for the bowl and did the deed with still tied hands. While he washed, Castiel went for his knife and went to him.

Just as he gained in proximity, the man jolted, wet hair plastered to his forehead and wide eyes gazing frantically around him.

"For the rope." He explained and without much patience took his hands which seemed to want a fight. He cut through with a simple swipe and let the strands fall.

He turned for his bed sat down, watching as the man rubbed at his wrists.

"What is your name?" He asked, finally.

Although, the slave seemed to have some internal battle over the simple question.

"I know you are not Roman, just answer truthfully."

"Dean." The voice took him by surprise. He expected a boyish, soft tone, not the gruff and weary one he got.

"And age?"

"Ah, 21-"

"From now on, you will answer with nothing but the truth. What is your age?"

"29."

The Centurion nodded, surprised again. The man did look much younger.

"Dean, my name is Castiel, I am Centurion of the 4th legion, and I will be... your master." He'd heard the word a thousand times before, but to be coming from his own mouth... It was difficult and strange.

"You will be treated fairly and justly as long as you follow my orders. I will not mistreat you or do abuse on your part as long as you pay me with respect. You will be paid for your services."

The slave stood nodding to his words, his hands still hanging indecisively in front of his crotch, as if they were still tied.

"Is there anything of import you wish me know about you?" If there were any abnormalities about the man it would be best to not be surprised.

"I am not a virgin." Castiel's face turned sour at the notion. He'd hoped they wouldn't have to bring this up. He'd have to be stupid to believe a slave-trader.

"This is of no importance. You will not be asked to perform sexual favors." The subtle way Dean's whole posture relaxed only confirmed his earlier suspicions. He was most likely a concubine all his life, taken from one owner to another.

"Though, I would ask you to tell people otherwise. Should they ask, of course, it would do no good to bring it up so bluntly." He scratched hand over his almost-beard. He'd have to get shaven soon.

"Of course."

He chanced his glance to the slave, hand still buried in the scratchy and dirty mess his face had become.

"Warm a bowl of water, will you?"

**To clarify some things:**

**A Centurion was basically like a general, he had a group of men he controlled them in battle.**

**Angelus Mortis- Angel of Death**

**Mars was god of war, Jupiter was god of all gods. Bona Dea! – Sweet Goddess!**

**Paederasty was very common in Ancient Greece and Rome, it was basically grown men 'loving' young boys. To be a paederast meant you were of a high social class.**

**When Michael refers to Cas as a woman, it is not because he thinks he is gay, but because he thinks he is submissive to men. In ancient Rome there was no straight/gay there was submissive/dominative. Basically everybody was bisexual and it was cool as long as the freeborn men weren't getting fucked, else it would jeopardize their freedom.**

**Lucian of Samosata was basically the 'first' comedic writer. He wrote in greek and apparently his stories were quite humorous and entertaining to the people of that time. I tried reading 'A True Story' by him, but it's all satire and at-the-time pop culture references. **

**Salve- Latin for Hello.**

**As for the story: I will stir clear from the torture/sado-masochism story line these kinds of fics most commonly follow. Though I will try to keep it as realistic as possible for those times, with artistic freedom and references to canon situations. And yes, the destiel goodness will follow. **

**Reviews fill me with warm feelings of joy and are great motivation. **


	2. Chapter 2

Once cleanly shaven, Castiel had set off to the market again. He'd left Dean with instruction to clean himself under the water pump. He'd had the thing built in just as he was leaving for the battlefield 2 years ago. It still worked at least, though it took a bit of time and force. And patience.

Now, he was off in the streets set on buying some clothing and necessities for the slave. Even though he had little coin in his pouch, he was confident much more was to be given to him. Payment always came after service.

He took a stop at a butcher's shop. The thought of some fine meat made his mouth water. He was sick of flee infested horse meat, and only a bite to eat of that among the hungry men. Now he was alone and could eat as much as he pleased.

"How much for a lamb's neck and legs, Meg?"

"Attat! Glad to see you walking, Castiel!" Meg, a freed woman who acted far too informal for his liking, turned to him with a smile.

"As am I. How much now?" He liked her, but to an extent. She was known to be privy and often times he wondered if she were a spy.

"Oh, don't be so catonian, friend. If you are having a feast, I would be glad to be of service. Or of entertainment." She leaned over the racks of meat to wink at him.

Castiel sighed, like he always did, but the familiarity was welcomed. It had been a long while since someone had been humorous with him and not in a cynical way.

"You are always entertaining, Meg. And no, I have just bought a slave. " He inclined his head as if in pride.

"Ruby, will you shush him?" She turned to the other woman as a man kept yelling out about the meat and price.

"Civilians." Castiel nodded in understanding.

"Never mind them, but what about this slave? Handsome, I imagine? Have you put him to work yet?" She smiled leeringly.

"Not yet, got him this morning." Castiel explained, his eyes downcast in discomfort. He'd yet to feel really comfortable around the slave, which is why he made the hasty decision to get down to the market. On an intellectual level he understood that the slave was bound to be just that, a slave. The only thing to teach him was discipline and order him about. But to live with someone, slave or otherwise was bound to be... Difficult.

"Oh, making sure he is fed and pulsing with energy, I see? Get yourself some wine on the way, will you? He is sure to become much more pliant, then."

"I will see to it, then. Now about the meat?"

-/-

Away from Meg and her endless blabbering, a bag of lamb meat in his arm he searched around for a fabrics shop.

" A 100 denarii?"

"I'm a freeborn."

"A 150! You will do good on your family."

"I said no!"

Hearing the ruckus he pulled the curtain of a stellar shop away and inside found a young boy and Azazel in his blue toga a hand holding securely onto the boy's arm.

"What is this?" Both pairs of eyes turned to him, the boy's frightened blue and Azazel's fury melting into defeat.

"He's trying to buy me, Centurion!"

"Like I couldn't?

"Azazel. Send Crowley my greetings and a reminder that freeborns are not up for sale. "

Azazel pulled away from the boy, his scowl melting into a rotten grin as he took his time in approaching the Centurion who took his stand.

"And what are you going to do about it, soldier?"

"I'll gather 500 hundred men, _slave._"

"Is that a threat? Cesar's little whore is going to threaten _me?" _

"It's a warning. Now you'd better go and take the whipping from your dear master, for what I could do would leave you begging for the leash." He snarled into the vassal's face, who squinted his eyes and left with an indignant step.

"Are you alright, Samandriel?" He turned to the boy who he hadn't seen in so long, he'd barely recognized him.

"I'm fine, Centurion. I-I thank you, I am in your debt, you have-"

"I wish I could have done more. For you as for the people, it would be a service to eliminate the coward." He sighed tiredly, as this was an ongoing issue. Sure, he could kill Azazel and lose a couple of coins in the process, but Crowley would just get another weasel to do his bidding.

"You mustn't speak so, sir, the walls have ears." Samandriel gained proximity and stopped in front of the soldier.

"Though, I must say I agree. And I thank you for your service to the Empire, for the service to us, the people, and I envy your courage and bravery." He took the Centurion's hand and kneeled to kiss it.

"You have my devotion and gratitude." The boy turned his gaze from the grasped hand to the blue eyes above him.

"I am in your debt and willing." Castiel rolled his eyes feeling beyond embarrassed. The day was turning into such a mess, from Dean to Meg to the here and now.

"Get up, boy." Samandriel immediately straightened up, hopeful eyes searching the Centurion's.

"There is no need for that. I'm here for clothing."

"Take whatever you want, Centurion."

With an embarrassed nod, he took to looking around. The boy was too young and soft for this world. He'd known him since his birth, hardly recognizable now. The life in Rome was bound to end up bad for him, with the baby face he carried.

He took a handful of bland grey tunics, both for him and Dean. He couldn't find much for his taste. Most was women's clothing, all varieties of it. Around that mess of cloth, he found a toga made of soft wool. Stripes of brown and gold ran over the green, making it look quite expensive but not aristocratic. He'd decided it would fit the slave.

He found some dark grey cloaks and took both for him and Dean.

Taking that too under his arm, he picked up a pile of loin cloth and decided it was enough for starters.

"How much for all of this?"

"Just 20 brass obols, for you, Centurion."

"Don't be foolish. These are no times for favors, I asked how much?" He stressed the words with a shake of his arm.

"I will not sleep if I take more." Samandriel shook his head in defiance, only furthering the soldier's impatience.

"Child-"

"Please, Castiel. You have been missed. This is as much as I can do for you."

With a scoff and a scowl he threw the requested coins and left with the clothing.

-/-

Up the creaky stairs, he was reminded of the stupidity of his decision. Two trips to the market under Apollo's unforgiving sun had him breathing and sweating heavily. He couldn't afford to bathe himself one day after the other.

He stopped by the entrance and found Dean sitting on the ground by his bed fiddling with something in his hands.

"Fought beside me, that thing." He called for the slave, who turned sharply to him eyes widening and making a tumbling stance.

He took slowly towards the surprisingly taller slave. Maybe he should have rethought that. No good to appear lesser.

"Do you like the design?" He gestured to the fourth Legion's flag in his hands.

"I like the lions." Dean answered reluctantly, almost shyly, and it was still so weird to hear his voice.

Castiel took the flag with his free hand and turned it over. The words Legio IV Ferrata stood out in bold golden letter over the red background, the four lion heads roaring in battle cry.

The damaged and worn cloth brought memories too vivid for Castiel's already exhausted mind. He threw it back on the bed and turned to the slave with the offered clothing.

"These are for you. The tunics and loin cloth are to be worn everyday. You will ask for permission if you wish to change them. Usually, I take my clothing to the washer's once every week. Be mindful of that. The cloak is to be worn at night. _With _the hood on." Dean nodded along nervously and took bit by bit of what was now his.

"And this." He took the toga in his hands.

"This you will wear only when I tell you to. _Only _when I tell you to. Which will probably be for gatherings and parties you will attend with me." He explained, Dean's fingers nimbly taking the soft cloth.

"And the meat, you will cook for dinner. You do know how to cook?"

"Yes." He should really speak more. Every syllable was a surprise.

"Good." Castiel replied gruffly. The whole power difference was messing with his usual mannerism, it was making it difficult to keep track of his wording.

He took to a small chest he had and pulled out a small knife hanging from a leather string. He went for the slave who was occupied with the meat and clothes.

"Here." He pulled up front and tried to ignore the green jittery eyes as he wrapped the string around his neck.

"This you will wear every day, wherever you go and take off only when you sleep. Even then you will keep it close to you. Are we understood?"

"Yes, dominus."

Those words, _those _words and it felt like something in his mind shook. Hearing that same word as a 6 year old boy coming from his mother's lips behind a shut door, screams of plea as a leash came down, again and again and again-

"Is something wrong?" Dean's eyes came into view and that wilderness brought things into focus.

"Do not call me that again." The broken voice came only naturally.

"I-Do you mean..."

"Yes."

The slave pulled back as if burnt- he must have seen something in his eyes- and turned to organize the cloth in piles.

Castiel stood for a while, trying to push back eerie thoughts and the guilt he felt at scaring the slave. He was a soldier for Jupiter's sake. A tool's emotional stability wasn't of import.

He settled at that and returned to his own goods.

-/-

Having to share space with someone on a constant proved to be taking a toll on him. For the first 2 weeks of Dean's service he'd done everything to keep the slave busy. But then, he was left with nothing to do. Dean would dust the house, sweep the stairs, cook the food, bring the water, feed his horse, Grace and do anything in between that was asked of him. And Castiel would... Sit, sleep and eat.

The Cesar was serious about this supposed vacation and made sure no assignments were given to him. He checked.

He came to realize the master/slave dynamic wasn't really working out for him. He couldn't have a person living with him and not acknowledge him. Sometimes his words would slip and he would ask Dean a question, something mundane, but it was still bad for discipline to treat a slave as a companion. Though, the idea to treat Dean as less than a human was vile and unfathomable for the soldier. But to do more than that was... Illegal for one, and if expressed publicly was bound to end him as a Gladiator, or worse. What's more, he didn't know how. The slave was too closed-off, not afraid, but cautious in his movements and speech. Castiel accepted the respect he deserved, however the image Dean represented was that of a caged lion.

The man didn't seem a brute, but Castiel expected he had a hungry anger and an ocean of grief. He'd take him to the market and just one lurid look from a drunk would sharpen his gaze and set his jaw, shoulders pulling up as if he were a peacock. And at night, when the soldier would settle on the bed and give Dean the animal skins to sleep on, he would see his green eyes bright in the moon light gazing unblinkingly into nowhere. He had to admit he was curious about the fellow.

Dean was something he didn't know, something he couldn't even begin to guess. Most people he knew would jump at the chance to talk about themselves, but this one... It was as if he tried to talk as little as he could. And while Castiel understood this, and in respect was quite the same in that manner, he came to resent it. He wasn't a threat to Dean and in a way, was offended that the slave would go so far to avoid him.

That night he'd instructed the slave to cook porridge, and waited by the table as his plate was being filled. Even for a simple meal, anything Dean made smelled heavenly.

"Thank you." He said the words experimentally, just to see if it would make a positive difference.

Dean stopped stock still mid filling his own plate. He turned wary eyes to the soldier, and oh Dis, he was looked at like a drunk spilling nonsense on the streets. Castiel coughed awkwardly and was thankful the slave left it at that, before returning to his food.

And just before Dean left for the stairs where he usually did his eating, he tried once more.

"You can sit with me." He called at the slave's back and watched his shoulders hunch together at the spoken words.

"It is fine, thank y-"

"Gerrae. You will sit here." He cut in before he could be dismissed. So, yes, goes to show that being open about your kindness didn't work with the slave.

The slave turned this time and leveled him with a look he could only translate as defiance. A look he'd mostly seen in small children being reprimanded by their mothers, or lazy soldiers too cowardly to speak up against his orders. It took him aback that look, but what was even more surprising was that he actually sat down. On the chair furthest from him facing the wall ahead, but, nevertheless, it was actual progress.

Castiel watched for a bit, almost smiling at Dean's utter determination to ignore him. The slave ate as if starved, stray lumps sliding down his chin. Though, Castiel felt it was more of a way to hurry and be done with sitting there. It was comical really.

He went back for his own plate and just as he took the first spoon, Dean spoke up.

"May I go now?" Castiel, his head still dipped over the plate, mouth hanging open hallway to the spoon, just raised his eyes to the slave and gave his own version of defiance. Taking the spoonful, he kept the eye-contact taking his time in working through the lumps and swallowing slowly. Really, he could laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

"Most slaves would be grateful for the honor, Dean." He said matter-of-factly after he swallowed.

"As am I-"

"Do not lie to me. I told you the first day that it is your _duty_ to speak truthfully with me." Castiel cut the slave again. He could almost hear that animal inside the man's graceful body growl in response. A peculiar glint in the slave's eyes spoke just how dangerous this man was, and just how surprisingly unafraid Castiel was of him. If anything, he found this intriguing.

"I do not need rewards. I do my duty because it is so. It is enough." Dean's voice came full and strong, much unlike the times he spoke before. It was refreshing and, somehow, it made the soldier glad.

"I wouldn't want you to see this is a reward. No matter what our roles are, you will be living with me. It is only fair that I be honest in return, and I must tell you that this is difficult for me." He paused, unsure if this was really a wise decision. But, Dean stayed calm, albeit his gaze turned more and more confused.

"I've never had a slave before, and I am not exactly well-thought in the ways of keeping one. But, I _know _that I would like for you to feel welcomed here, not caged."

"Until I can buy my freedom."

The swell of fear that he gave the slave too much, vanished as fast as it came, only to be replaced by defeat.

"Yes, until then."

**Attat- Latin for "Well, well!" or "Oh my", basically a specific way of saying something along those lines.**

**Catonian- a way to describe a typical masculine emotionless face of a Roman**

**Denarii- Roman money**

**Freeborn- Roman society was split into freeborns, slaves and freedmen. Freedmen were slaves who bought their freedom, but they were still looked down upon.**

**What Castiel says about killing Azazel is true: In those times killing a slave wasn't considered murder, if it were your own slave you could kill them at anytime and not face anything, but if you were to kill another's slave you had to pay the owner back money**

**A brass obol is one-sixteenth of a drachma, which is really, really small money, like one-sixteenth of a penny.**

**Legio IV Ferrata refers to Castiel's fourth Legion, the words were on every Legion's flag, only with a different mascot and numeral**

**Dominus – Latin for master**

**Gerrae- Latin for nonsense**

**Thank you all for the reviews, it really motivates me to go through with this and of course, brightens up my day! So, keep them coming as these times without supernatural can make us all fanfic hungry. :) **

**And a question: Would it be better if I put an asterisk on all the things that need explaining or would it feel weird and dumb? Also, if you need any explaining that I can hopefully provide, I will do so. **

**Thanks for taking the time to read!**


End file.
